


Blood Runs Cold

by 2sdaynight



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bipolar Richie Tozier, Coming Out, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, anyways this is just Richie coming out to Bev UwU, very subtle but its REAL hes BIPOLAR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 11:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20834951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2sdaynight/pseuds/2sdaynight
Summary: He wants to say the feeling in his gut is foreign, but the truth is it’s been flowering for years, vines twisting and growing in the pit of his stomach, just waiting for him to open his mouth so they can finally see the sun.(or a short fic about Richie Coming out to Bevvie while they smoke in his room)





	Blood Runs Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to touch on the idea of Richie coming out to Bevvie when they were kids, and of course i couldn't help myself and gave the whole fic bipolar Richie undertones.

It’s a hot summer afternoon. It’s a hot summer afternoon with birds chirping in the air. It’s a hot summer afternoon, birds are chirping in the air, and ‘Centerfold’ is blaring at his next door neighbors barbecue. It’s hot, summer, birds are chirping, ‘Centerfold’ is playing, and there's smoke filling the room. Richie takes another drag off the joint before passing it back to Bev and attempting to take in the more minute details of the scene laid out before him, as if he’s planning on holding this memory close to his heart. Or, He guesses, closer to his heart than most of his other memories of his time with the losers that he already holds there.

He supposes he would’ve preferred a quiet summer night, but Bevvie wasn’t allowed over at his house at all, let alone at night, so it was easier to sneak around on afternoons when she would be out of the house anyways. Richie’s parents were out, and he had been feeling particularly brave and stupid these past few days, so asking Bev over to smoke and talk seemed like a great idea at the time.

Now however, with his palms grossly sweaty and his thoughts racing far too fast for someone who's smoked half a joint already, he wonders how bad it would look if he sent Bev home so he could spend the afternoon screaming into his pillow instead.  
Not canceling plans with Bev was an unspoken rule though, one that he refused to break. The longer the losers could keep her away from her father, the better.

“You know I’m pretty sure this is the longest I’ve ever heard you stop talking, Mr. Tozier.” The angel in question chimes in, words echoing in his head about three times before he can actually process them enough to respond.

“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Tozier, I’m simply dreaming of the house I plan to build for us someday!” he says dreamily. Though by the look on her face, it seems he was caught thinking too hard, and then Richie is more than a little desperate to see his lovely Bevvie give him a smile instead of the pitying look she has on now.

“Rich… you can like. Talk to me? Y’know, if you need to… or even just want to.” and God, she really is angel isn’t she? Gentle as always, kind and understanding, even to a trashmouth like him. She takes a long hit off the joint before passing it back to Richie.  
He considers this for a moment before taking another hit of his own. Could he talk to Bev? He must have felt like he could earlier when he invited her over, but now he doubts his better judgement. It’s not like he didn’t trust her, and it's not like he didn’t trust his boys either, but the problem wasn’t stemming from a lack of trust.

Taking a second drag off of the joint before passing it back once more, Richie thinks the problem might be as it always is; with him. He finds its getting a little harder to breathe as he thinks about just how long he’s spent avoiding this very topic. He’s never said it out loud, not even to himself, and at this point he wonders if he knows how to form the words at all. Like maybe if he tried, it would just come back a garbled chopped up mess, like a child who hasn't learned big words yet and still needs the practice. A large part of his brain, probably the part responsible for self preservation, wanted to keep it that way.

Releasing a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Richie pulls his knees up to his chest. He wants to say the feeling in his gut is foreign, but the truth is it’s been flowering for years, vines twisting and growing in the pit of his stomach, just waiting for him to open his mouth so they can finally see the sun.

“You know you’re my number one, right?” He says quietly, trying not to flinch at the sound of his voice breaking on such a simple sentence. Bev’s expression changes from worried to overtly concerned, knowing her friends unusually serious demeanor was something to be respected, not joked about, whenever it happened to present itself.

“Of course, Rich… you know you’re mine too, yeah?” and he tries to smile at that, he really does. Instead he finds his bottom lip trembling, and suddenly he can barely see through the tears welling up in his eyes. He brings the heels of his palms up to press against his eyes, just enough to actually hurt, trying to stop the inevitable overflow of tears.

Richie considers for just one moment how much easier it would be to confess his undying love for the girl in front of him. Just one moment passes where he considers spending the rest of his life with Beverly at his side, calling him her husband, and her, his wife and the mother of his children. Just one moment before Richie has to swallow around the stomach bile rising in his throat, ready to vomit at the very thought.

He looks up at her once more, eyes shining bright with unshed tears, and tries to think of how best to say what he needs to. There’s something about moments like these that makes Richie's thoughts speed up until he doesn’t feel coherent anymore, and he finds his shoulders begin to shake as parsing through the racing in his head becomes more and more difficult by the second. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to guarantee his words will get him out of this confession alive.

“...Please don’t hate me, Bevvie.” He settles on dumbly, voice and body both shaking like a leaf. Before Bev can respond, a harsh sob is tearing its way through his throat, and he hides his face away underneath his own hands.

Crying in earnest now, he doesn’t notice when Bev makes a move to sit right next to him until he’s jumping at the feeling of her shoulder bumping against his. Without missing a beat, Bev twists to wrap her arms around Richie’s shoulders, giving them a quick squeeze before resting resting her head on top of his.

“I love you, Richie.” She says simply, as if she’s giving him the time of day, like its a fact of life rather than something Richie found himself grateful for every day.

Years later, Richie would remember this moment as the safest he ever felt during his childhood. He would remember the kindest girl in the world holding him close as he cried, reassuring him of her love, and making him feel as though his fears were the farthest thing in the world from him and her alike in Richie’s tiny bedroom. He would remember that, for a few minutes, he had nothing to be scared of.

Now though, he revels in that safety, wants to drown himself in it before he tells her the truth about his dirty little secret. Allowing himself that much, this moment of quiet catharsis, Richie gathers his breath again before switching positions to hold onto Bevvie in turn. He hugs her tight and she pets his hair, giving a soft kiss to his head as further encouragement. His heart goes soft, and somehow hammers at his chest at the same time. Taking a deep breath, he decides it’s now or never.

“...I’m gay.”

Quiet. Almost too quiet, if not for the sounds of the world still spinning outside. Her hands in his hair never stopped their motions, not for a seconds pause, and he wonders briefly if she even heard what he said.

His answer is given in the form of a much firmer kiss placed to the crown of his head, an unyielding sign of her affection for the boy in front of her despite the warning signs. He can't help it when he lets out a little part-sob, part-laugh, part-strangled choking sound from deep in his throat, a response to a feeling of unconditional love that almost died while waiting to be used.

Frantic is the word he would use to describe how he felt in that moment. Desperate. The sense of relief was entirely unparalleled in his life to that point, and it left him almost hysterical. He gripped tight as Bev’s shoulders, fisting the cloth her shirt in his hands as if she’d be gone forever if he let go. His cries were practically screams at this point, and she soothed over his back as breathing became difficult to manage

They stayed like this for some time, though neither cared enough to put a number on it, instead preferring to lose themselves to each others company. When they finally spoke again, it was with Richie practically sitting in Bev’s lap, chin on her shoulder and arms still holding her tight, with Bev mimicking his position.

“I love you too, Bev” Richie says finally, voice hoarse from his earlier cries. Bev in turn held him a little tighter, rocking them both back and forth ever so gently and humming along to the song on the neighbors stereo. Richie smiled and hummed along with her, feeling safe and loved, loved and safe. Safe enough for another confession.

“...and I think I’m in love with Eddie?”

He says it like a question, an unsure lilt in his voice, and at this Bev does give pause.

“Sweetie, are you asking me, or are you telling me?”

He blinks once. Twice.

“Telling you.” He decides, “I’m in love with Eddie.”

As he says it, he feels the smile growing on his face. Bev must be able to hear it in his voice too, as she pulls back to look him in the eyes.

“You sound happy.” She says. Not with any type of judgement or connotations, but more so an observation from an open heart.

“Yeah… I’ve never said that out loud before” The blush was growing wildly in his cheeks as he spoke. “Either of ‘em. I love Eddie. I’m gay and I’m in love with my best friend.”

They both give a startled jolt at the sound of a child screaming just outside, so wrapped up in each other that they almost forgot the distant music isn't playing just for them. This seems to bring Richie back to reality entirely, as the smile wipes clean off his face.

“Fuck, Bev… I’m gay and I’m in love with my best friend. What the fuck am I going to do?” he asks earnestly, desperately.

“...You’re going to be okay.” She says. Richie waits for her to continue, but she only looks at him as if waiting for a response.

“You. You don’t know tha-”

“Yes I do. You’re going to be okay, Richie, I promise.” and she smiles at him like knows she's what she’s talking about.

“How could you possibly know that?” he asks, a little more biting than he meant to. Bev ignores him and soldiers on.

“Well, how do you know that I’ll be okay?”

“I don’t know that you’ll be okay, Bevvie! You could get hurt any day and that's fucking scary!” He starts to get himself worked up again at the very thought. “None of us know if you’re gonna be okay, we just try to protect you when we can.”

Oh.

Bev smiles a bit warmer, as if the reminder that her boys were there to protect her made her feel safe too, and more than anything Richie hopes that’s true. She always had a way of putting things very plainly, made it hard to argue against her point without sounding like you're arguing against logic. What she was trying to tell him now was obvious, but she puts it into words anyways.

“We love you, Richie. You get to be protected too.”

Richie wonders if he looks as dumbstruck as he feels. Bev wanted to protect him. Bev expected the other Losers to protect him. Would they? Or would they be what he needs to be protected from?

“I can see your brain working too hard, Tozier,” His angel supplies. “You too, okay? Yes, you. None of us are going to hate you because you’re you. Not even Eddie.”

“Eddie might hate me if he-” and Bev doesn’t give him a chance to finish.

“Eddie could never hate you. Eddie loves you.” she says firmly. “I don’t know if he’s in love with you, but I do know that he loves you.”

He’s silent for a long moment, at a loss for what to say.

“I carved our initials into the kissing bridge.” He tries lamely. Bev stares at him a bit owl eyed for just a second before she recovers quicker than Richie ever could.

“Richard, I appreciate the gesture... but what would dear Edward think if he saw the B?” She says, batting her eyelashes and raising the pitch of her voice to a ridiculous degree.

There’s a beat before Richie starts laughing, and then he’s cracking up like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Bev joins in until Richie falls backwards out of her lap, and then they're laughing even more. It's a moment of reassurance after the fact, that things were still normal and Richie and Bev were still Richie and Bev. Reaching out a hand to help him sit back up, Bev attempts to stifle her remaining giggles.

Richie has other plans however, and gives Bev’s hand a gentle tug to signify what he wanted. She followed more than willingly, falling forward to lay on Richie’s gross bedroom floor beside him, resting her head on his chest as his fingers comb through her hair.

With his other hand, Richie reaches for the joint that had long since gone out. Bev helpfully supplies the lighter, and he takes a few puffs to get it going again, before passing it once more to the wonderful girl next to him. Blowing out a cloud of smoke, Richie's mind wanders to a beautiful boy who he knows loves him. One day... he was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you Enjoyed! feel free to hmu w writing prompts on my blog @mewpuddin or art prompts on @2sdaynight


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